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There was bird shit on the windscreen of his dad’s 1971 Ford Thunderbird. It was jarring, like seeing Harry Styles with a beer gut. Bright had to look twice to make sure he wasn’t imagining it. It was odd enough that the car was parked out on the footpath, but for it to be dirty was something he had never seen. His father had always cleaned that car weekly, polishing it until Bright and Bern could see their almost matching faces in the reflection of the bumper as kids. That car was his father’s pride and joy. Bright felt a churn of ap- prehension in his gut, hurrying up the path to Klaus’s house, anxious to make sure his father was okay.
“Dad?” he called, knocking on the front door and testing the handle. It opened easily, the retirement village general- ly so safe that barely any of the residents ever locked their doors. “Dad, it’s Bright, are you here? Is everything okay?”
Inside it all seemed fine; breakfast dishes in the sink, a newspaper open on the bench, the radio playing quietly in the background. Holly the cat looked up from where she was lying on the couch and then, finding nothing worth getting up for, closed her eyes and went back to sleep.
“Klaus?” he tried.
His father emerged from down the hallway, dusting off his pants and smiling widely.
“Hello, this is a nice surprise. I was just thinking about you.” He pulled off his wire-rimmed glasses, tucking them into his shirt front, and reached out to give Bright a hug. He smelt of sandalwood, his white grey beard soft against Bright’s arm as he pulled away. “Shall I put the jug on?”
“Umm, sure. Why is the Ford parked outside?”
“Huh? Oh. Right. Is it?” Klaus didn’t turn to look at Bright, instead pulling out cups from a cupboard and then opening the fridge door to retrieve the milk.
“Dad, you know we talked about you driving,” Bright said, opening up the kitchen junk drawer and rustling around. “Do you remember what the doctor told you? You know I’m happy to drive you to the shops any time you want to go. Where are the keys? I’ll put it back in the garage for you.”
“No! ” Klaus said loudly, turning and shaking his head.
“No, no, that’s okay, it’s fine out there,” he added more qui- etly. “Anyway, I forget where the keys are.”
Klaus had started to have some issues about a year ago. Little things, like losing his wallet, forgetting how to check his phone for messages, buying cat food and then doing it again the next day until he had months’ worth of cat bis- cuits in the pantry that Holly would, at sixteen, probably never finish in her lifetime. The doctor had confirmed mild dementia, and Bright had been relieved that his father was already in the retirement village, so no major life changes had been necessary.
Even more helpful that he and his brother owned the place and Klaus had been more than happy to move in when it was built ten years ago, despite being the youngest resident at the time. Klaus had been on his own for quite some time by then, and he liked the company of the other residents. Having the memory issues caused no major changes for him. There were already people in place within the community ready to help with health checks, meals and day-to-day care. Except for the car. Several minor prangs had made it clear that Klaus’s driving days were at an end, and they had finally agreed that it was best he surrender his licence. He had re- fused to give up the car though.
“Well, they must be here somewhere,” Bright said. “I’ll have a look.”
“No, no, it’s fine. I’m sure they’ll turn up soon enough.” “They’re probably on the hook in the garage.” Bright head-
ed down the hallway to have a look. Klaus stood up quickly, knocking over his seat in the process and startling Holly.
“No, no, don’t worry about it, I’ll have a look later. Come and have your tea or it’ll get cold.”
“It’ll only take a minute,” Bright said, turning the knob on the garage door. It was locked, which was odd.
“I said leave it!” his dad shouted down the hallway.
“There’s no need to treat me like a bloody child.”
“Okay, okay, sorry.” Bright went back to the kitchen. “It’s locked anyway. Have you lost the key to the garage as well?” “Must have done.” Klaus fished out the teabags with a
spoon. “Now, do you want milk and sugar?”
“Yes, please.” Bright bit back the sadness that his dad could no longer remember how he took it. His mum had died when he and Bern were fifteen and his dad had brought them up alone after that. Every time he forgot something about them, it was a little silent heartbreak.
“What brings you over anyway?” Klaus asked. “Isn’t it Monday? You usually come on Fridays, don’t you?”
“I’m going to be here every day for a few weeks, while An- drew is away on his paternity leave. I’m filling in as manag- er.” He didn’t add that he’d told his dad that several times already. “It was supposed to be next week, but ... anyway, hopefully the timing works out, since we shut down for the holidays at Dainty Dwellings next week.”
Bright and his brother had invested in Pacific Palms re- tirement home together, but after Bern moved to Australia,
Bright had also opened another company, making and sell- ing tiny homes — a market that was steadily increasing and that he knew he was going to need to expand or sell in the near future.
“Right, right, so you’ll be up at the office then? All week?” “Well, daily, although I might have to come and go a bit.
But I’ll be able to pop in a bit more and say hello.”
His dad took a sip of his tea and gave him an odd look. If Bright didn’t know better, he’d have thought he looked a bit put out. But he and his dad were close, so he was sure it wasn’t annoyance. He took a sip from his own cup and winced.
“Jesus. What the hell sort of tea is this? Is it herbal? It tastes like toenails.” He stood and looked at the packet. ‘Slippery Elm,’ he read. ‘Relieves constipation and other stomach ailments.’ Bloody hell, he thought, no wonder it tasted awful.
“Bugger,” his dad said. “Should have used my glasses.
Where the hell did I put them?”
Andrew’s office looked out over the bowling green and through the glass windows to the enclosed pool, where half a dozen residents were currently bobbing about holding pale- blue pool weights and doing some sort of aqua aerobics, if he were to guess.
There was a list of projects in progress and items that
needed to be taken care of on the desk pad in front of him and Bright also had emails to sort for his own business, but first he decided to ring Bern and catch him before he left for work.
“Morning,” his brother said. “Hang on a minute, will ya? Tate, get that away from the dog’s bum, it’ll get stuck.” There was a clatter of cutlery, rustling of a wrapper and several beeps. “Sorry, how’s it going?”
“Better for me than the dog by the sounds of it,” Bright said drily.
“Bloody lollipops. Di’s mother gave the kids a bag of the things and I’ve already had to cut two out of the carpet.”
“How is Di? And the kids?”
“Yeah, all good. But Di had an early meeting which means I’m on school and kindy drop-off, so I can’t talk for long. How’s it going?”
“I’m filling in for Andrew at the Palms, so I popped in to see Dad.”
“How is the old bugger?”
“The Thunderbird was outside,” Bright said, watching with surprise as one of the residents walked past the bowlers and gave them the finger. “It was covered in bird shit.”
“You’re shi— shimmering me?” “What?”
“Sorry, I’ve got little ears listening. Are you serious? Dad never leaves that car outside, and bird shi— poop? Is he get- ting worse?”
“He seemed okay. But he claimed to have misplaced the keys — to the car and the garage.”
“Damn. Still, he’s in the right place to lose his marbles, isn’t he?”
The bowlers were all standing around talking and gestic- ulating at the retreating back of the old bloke who’d flipped them off and Bright watched as someone in a candy-pink towel that perfectly matched her hair came over to talk to them. She was young. Too young to be a resident in any case, and her legs were rather shapely.
“Bright?” Bern asked. “You still there?” “Yes, sorry, you were saying?”
“Only that I assumed you and dad would do your same old Christmas dinner? At the same restaurant?”
“Well, yes, I would imagine so.”
Their mother had loved Christmas. When they were kids, she had gone all out for the festive season, but after her death, their father refused to do more than have a meal to celebrate. They didn’t do stockings or trees or anything re- motely Christmassy.
“It’s just Di was saying we haven’t been home for a Christ- mas in years and I wondered ... anyway, we’ll probably head down to her parents in Margaret River but I thought I’d bet- ter check ...”
“Right, right, no point coming all the way over here for a silly commercial holiday ...“ Bright was distracted by this woman who was now going round giving the residents damp
hugs and laughing, her head back, something sparkling at her ears. She was tiny, not much over five foot and ...
“Right. So I guess I’ll talk to you later then? Lucy, where are your shoes? Keep me updated about Dad, yeah?”
“Will do,” Bright said, holding back a sigh. Christmas al- ways made him a bit depressed. Sometimes he wished he could go overseas and not be the one responsible for his father and their business while his brother enjoyed life in Perth with a wife who loved him and kids who were relative- ly cute, and not be alone ...
Deciding not to dwell, and to focus on the job at hand, he turned away from the window to look back at the first item on his list.
‘Organise residents’ Christmas party with Mary — need to find room in the budget?’ he read, letting out a sigh.
CHAPTER 2